So Nice
by TnT6713
Summary: "She speaks slowly when she's angry. She's condescending when she's angry. She's so nice when she's angry. So, so nice." Alice finds out Frank's been cheating on her. Just a bit of Fralice angst because I had a craving for Fralice angst.


Long day.

You drop into a large, worn-out armchair, breathing out an extended sigh.

Hands descend onto your shoulders. Soft hands, quiet hands.

Pregnant hands.

Pregnant hands work at your shoulders, digging, kneading, perfect—God, that is _exactly_ what you need—so nice. So, so nice.

She leans down. You feel her breath on your ear, her hair on your shoulder. When did your eyes slip closed? You don't complain; it's nice. So, so nice.

You're happy you married her. Really, you are. She's everything you'd ever wanted. She's beautiful and strong and determined and optimistic and yours and nice. She's so nice.

You feel her words before you hear them.

"I know about you and Sirius."

_So, so nice_. Wait.

Your eyes spring open. Your shoulders tense. You can tell she's smirking, just out of view. You feel wrong—not because of what you've done, but because the ring around your finger might as well be around your neck.

"You… excuse me?"

The smirk is definitely there. You can hear it now. She's gripping your shoulders, calling all the heat in your body to just under her palms. You feel cold. Something smells like perspiration.

"I know about you and Sirius." Each word is its own sentence. She speaks slowly when she's angry. She's condescending when she's angry. She's so _nice_ when she's angry.

So, so nice.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

You're lying.

"Don't lie to me, love."

"I-I'm not lying…"

You stutter when you're nervous.

"Then, tell me, Frank… why are you nervous?"

"I-I'm not, I—"

"Afraid poor baby Neville will know his father's a dirty, lying, cheating arse?"

The words drip from her tongue like molasses. They hit your ears and dissolve into sweat on the back of your neck.

She could be throwing things. She could be throwing _you_. But she doesn't. She's so nice.

"Did you _really_ think you could hide it from me forever? Did you honestly believe your pregnant wife wouldn't find out you'd been shagging Sirius Black for the last three years?"

You swallow thickly. What is that around your neck? Is it a ring or a noose?

"Three years… Tell me, Frank, just how stupid do you think I am?"

Maybe you can pretend you don't know what she's talking about. Maybe you can act like her accusations are false. But they're not, and she knows, and there's no point denying it any longer.

"How," you croak, "did you find out? I thought—"

"Thought you were careful? Thought Lily would keep your secret forever? Thought I wouldn't mind? Are you even so sure you thought anything at all? Because it seems to me that you didn't."

You shake your head. "I don't know."

"What was that? You don't know?" The smirk is gone from her voice. The room is not so warm anymore. How is she still so nice? "I don't know if I believe you. I don't know if I believe anything you tell me anymore."

You close your eyes again. You try to clear your head but you can't. What happened to your brain? How can you function? It's just water up there. You have a ringing in your ears that's more like crashing waves. The ocean exists only inside your head and yet you feel yourself drowning. Everything is cold.

"I didn't think it would last so long… Every time, I… I swore it would be the last time. But when every time is the last time, you stop thinking about when it'll end and accept that it won't. It's like an addiction."

_He's_ like an addiction.

Her hands slip off of your shoulders. You can feel her step back—away. Her presence feels _so much heavier_ now.

Sad.

She's sad.

There's a slight shift in the atmosphere and you can tell she's sad. Not disappointed, not upset, just sad.

But it's not just _sad_. It's Alice's sad. It's the kind of sad that she smiles through anyway, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. It's the kind of sad that she'll deny even exists. She'll speak so softly and be so nice and you can tell she wants to cry but she won't let herself. She'll never let herself be weak. She's too proud. So proud. So nice.

"Oh," she breathes and it's not quite a whisper but you still strain to hear it.

"I'm sorry, Alice, I—"

"Why him?"

"What?"

"Why him? It could have been anybody… why was it Sirius Black?"

"I… I don't…" You sigh. You don't tell her you don't know, because you _do_ know. And it's so stupid—so, so stupid—but it's not just stupid, it's _real_. It's stupid and real and wrong but you've never cared. You've never cared about the wrong because it felt right. It always felt right.

"I love him."

The world freezes. You cringe. Something in the silence sounds like it's breaking. You try to convince yourself it's a window, just a window, but even you can see through it. A flick of your wand and a muttered _'Reparo'_ won't fix it this time.

"And what about me? Don't you love me? Doesn't this stupid ring mean anything?"

You look up. She's in front of you now, arms folded across her chest. Her eyes glisten.

But they don't glisten because of starlight or sunshine. They don't glisten the way they do when she laughs. They don't glisten the way they did the first time you kissed her or the way they did on your wedding night. No, this is a different kind of glisten. The bad kind.

"Of course—"

"And why'd you marry me if you're so in love with him anyway? Was I just a receptacle for you to deposit your sperm and leave once I've popped out a child? And all those times you said I was beautiful or perfect or one-of-a-kind, all those times you said you loved me… was any of that real? How am I supposed to trust anything you tell me anymore? How am I supposed to believe anything anymore? The last three years of my life have been a lie, Frank."

She pauses. You don't dare to speak because you know she's not finished. She'll never be finished.

"How many people know?"

She pauses again, and this time, she's looking for an answer.

You open your mouth.

You've forgotten how to speak.

"Lily, James, Remus, Lexi… Peter might have figured it out, as well."

She looks down. You don't. You don't know what you're waiting for—_maybe the ability to breathe_, you think—and you're afraid of what she's going to say. She's afraid, too. You can tell.

"Am I… a joke, Frank?" A real whisper this time, timid and sad and disheveled with doubt. She doesn't look back up. God, she is so… exquisite. It's different, being around her. Maybe you'd forgotten. She doesn't seem so delicate from ten feet away, twenty feet away, someone else's bedroom. You know her. You trust her. You understand her. "Am I a joke to you?"

"No, of course not."

"Then why? Why would you hurt me like this? I… I thought… Three years, Frank! Three years ago, we were already engaged… What happened? You got cold feet and couldn't even talk to me?"

"I know I've made some mistakes—"

"You fell in love with someone else!"

"Okay, I admit it, I have feelings for him. But that doesn't change anything about how I feel about you and don't do that thing where you scowl and roll your eyes and turn away—"

She does.

"—Because I know you only do that when I'm bullshitting you and I promise I'm not. I didn't marry Sirius, I married you. And I wouldn't have it any other way."

She looks down. She's clutching her stomach, cradling it, as if she's asking little unborn Neville what to do. You're terrified. You hate yourself. You hate yourself more than you've ever hated anyone. You hate yourself more than anyone else has ever hated you.

You hate yourself more than you love her.

You close your eyes.

Something small hits you in the face.

As it tumbles into your lap, you open your eyes. You can see her rubbing the indent on her finger, the raw patch of flesh where a promise used to be.

You hate yourself for having expected anything different.

You pick up the tiny little gold promise. It burns in your hand. But you don't look at it, because you know looking would burn even more.

Finally, she breaks the silence. She's done whispering. She's done with sadness.

"Get out of my house. Get out and don't come back until I can trust you again." She wraps her arms around her stomach again, covering the spot where you know he always kicks. "He's due in three months. Make sure it's before then."

Before you can speak, she's hauling herself up the stairs. Not that you'd have been able to speak anyway; your throat feels as though it's made of cotton. Your ring suddenly feels loose around your finger. But the other one, the one with the custom engraving and three little diamonds, is burning in your palm, closing tighter and tighter around your neck.

You can't breathe.

You close your eyes. You feel so _heavy_. You can't move.

You don't want to move.

But she asked you to move. Your wife, she handed you her ring and asked you to move.

You feel dead.

You don't know how much time has passed once you wearily lift yourself out of the chair. You don't even realize what you're doing until you've stepped outside and you hear the door close behind you.

Three months. She's giving you three months. It's more than you deserve.

You smile to yourself.

_So nice._


End file.
